


gonna get you fired

by jackgyeoms



Series: and the record keeps playing [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman v Superman: Dawn of Justice, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Deepthroating, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Phone Sex, Threesome - F/M/M, Unsafe Sex, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-06 09:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6748513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jackgyeoms/pseuds/jackgyeoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Are you both trying to kill me?” he demands.</p><p>“Not kill you, get you fired maybe,” Bruce’s voice teases. There’s a rustling noise, and somewhere, Lois gasps. Clark wishes he could see what was making that happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	gonna get you fired

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ["Work From Home"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GL9JoH4Sws) by Fifth Harmony, because apparently this series is going to be music inspired.
> 
> @rayskendra wanted some more bruce x lois -ness which the trio, so this happened
> 
> Unbeta'd so all mistakes are my own

 

Alfred doesn’t greet him at the door, and that has Bruce floundering. His immediate thought is that something is wrong. Bruce had told Alfred many times over the years that they were _family_ , and Alfred should act as such. The man had always smiled and told him that dinner was to be at seven this evening, just as it always is. He has a routine, and rarely strays from it.

“Alfred?” he calls into the house. Quiet answers him.

He tugs at the scarf around his neck, and hangs it up with his coat. He thinks, if he has to fight, it will be easier without those layers. He stalks his halls, and he listens. Distantly, he hears the low hum of the television, and he walks towards it. He’d always had an entertainment room, with all the high tech luxuries that could be afford to a Wayne, but it mostly sat empty and underused. Until now, he remembers, and braces against the doorframe.

Lois sits with crossed legs upon the long sofa that fits the length of the wall as it was designed to. She wears one of Bruce’s sleep shirts, and a pair of Clark’s boxers (the ones covered in pepperoni pizza and brought as a gag gift last Christmas). A pillow is hugged to her chest, and a bowl of popcorn is settled to her right. Her eyes are glued to the screen.

Two cushions down, Alfred sits. Even here, he sits prim and proper, with nothing out of place or in anyway undignified. It makes Bruce smirk.

“Comfortable?” Bruce braces himself against the doorframe and muses.

Alfred inclines his head, and doesn’t move. “Master Wayne.”

Lois’ smile lights up her face when she turns to him, and his heart takes a leap in his chest. He’s lucky to have her, to have _this_ with her. “I got Alfred to watch Independence Day with me.”

Bruce arched an eyebrow.

Alfred sniffed. “It’s an interesting take on how the Earth would respond to an alien invasion. The President's speech was rather moving.”

Lois laughs gleefully. Bruce folds his arms and says, “You haven’t watched a movie with me in years.”

“Without causing offense Master Bruce, Miss Lois is far more charming than you,” Alfred comments. “Yours was regulated to your baby face, and unfortunately the years have been unkind.”

Alfred is looking amused, and Bruce almost feels like he should be offended.

“Well, I think he’s beautiful,” Lois coos.

Alfred hums, “In the right light, I suppose,” and his lips curl at the edges.

She pats the seat beside her, “Come sit. Watch with me. They haven’t blown up the ship yet.”

Bruce finds it as hard to deny her as Alfred does. He drops and groans when he does so, age setting into his bones despite his best efforts, but it easy to forget that when Lois leans into his side. His arm wraps around her back, settles against her waist, and her cheek mushes into his shoulder. Bruce presses a kiss to her temple.

“Long day?” she murmurs.

“Something like that,” Bruce sighs, “What about you?” He doesn’t need to ask about Clark. The man has been spending more and more time away, just to get the quotes he needs for this story. The deadline for the article had been marked in red in Bruce’s personal calendar – he didn’t want to miss it.

“Got a flight out early tomorrow to Qatar. Human rights violations in connections to the World Cup,” Lois says, and Bruce frowns. He hadn’t been aware of this. Lois pats his chest reassuringly. “It’s all very last minute.”

“Everything with you is last minute,” Bruce teases, and huffs a laugh when she elbows him in response. He asks, “You’ll call if run into trouble.”

“I can look after myself,” Lois insists, “You two worry too much.”

“What you have in charm, you lack in tacked,” Bruce points out. Alfred makes a noise that sounds like agreement. “Call.”

Lois rolls her eyes. “Between you and Clark, I’m sure I’m bugged two ways to Sunday. Now, shush, I like this part.”

The watch the rest of the movie in silence, except for the crunch of popcorn between molars. It suddenly hits Bruce that it has been a long time since he’d just sat down for something this leisurely. Even on days at Wayne Enterprises that dropped exhaustion onto his shoulders, he’d still go to the Batcave and work until it’s imbedded into his bones and aches. To not do so before had made him feel like his skin was itching, pulled too tight in all the wrong places. It made him anxious, made him incapable of sitting still.

He doesn’t feel that now, the first in a long time. He places another kiss on whatever flesh he can reach, because he thinks Lois might be a part of the reason why.

The movie ends, and Alfred stands. He straightens his suit and says, “That was quite enjoyable Miss Lane. We shall have to do it again.”

“Of course,” Lois promises.

“And now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’m sure Master Bruce has left me a pile of laundry in the area around the hamper,” Alfred tells. He would say the same thing when Bruce was young, and like always, it makes Bruce smile sheepishly.

Lois jags him in the side. “You have deadly aim to take out someone’s eye, but not to get your shirts in the laundry basket?” She rolls her eyes, and pats his chest condescendingly as she assures Alfred, “I’ll work on it.”

“I’m sure you’ll have far more luck than I Miss Lane,” Alfred gives her a vote of confidence, and leaves without making a sound.

“He likes me,” Lois says as soon as she’s sure they’re alone, and Bruce feels as pleased as she looks. Because Alfred is one of the most important person in his life, and although it isn’t necessary, Bruce feels validated in his affections knowing that Alfred approves of who he loves.

“He does,” Bruce nods, and smiles charmingly, “How could he not?”

Lois presses her lips together and hums. She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “Are you trying to get me out of my panties Mr Wayne?”

“Almost definitely,” he is honest, “Although technically those are Clark’s panties.”

Lois shakes her head, and red curls bounce. “Clark’s panties are far more interesting.”

Bruce looks pained. “I’ve never seen Clark in panties,” and Lois grins wickedly.

She shifts so she can raise up on to her knees. She towers above, and her hands set on his shoulders to keep him down. Where his hands now rest, he can brush his fingers against her thigh and he does, pushes higher and higher until Lois shivers beneath him. “How about we work on getting me out of these first.”

It’s not a question, and Bruce is going to follow it like a command. He urges her closer and angles his head in offering. She lets their lips brush just for a moment before he’s standing, and hoisting her with him, his hands griping her thighs, her legs folding around to the small of his back. Her startled yelp rings in his ears. Her arms fold around his neck and keep him close.

Brue steals kisses as he walks, and Lois laughs each time, reflecting his happiness back at him to a dizzying degree.

He lowers Lois to the bed, and strips her of their clothes. Bruce presses his lips to each new reveal of skin – he traces over freckles he’s counted again and again, brushes over stretch marks that stripe her stomach. He touches every inch of her, and nudges his face between her splayed legs so he can taste her.

Her hands threaded in his hair, Lois moans, arches her back, and rolls her hips into him. She is never passive, always fighting for her pleasure, for her control, and Bruce is only too happy to push back. He holds her hips down with a bruising grip, and watches her face with glee when she huffs her displeasure.

She wants to ride him, and soon he’ll give her what she wants, but now, he just wants her to give into him.

And she does, eventually. She trembles beneath him, her thighs warm against his ears. He can feel the aborted thrusts that never satisfy. He can feel her fingers flexing in his hair until they just grip and hold, a punishment for what he has refused her.

She curses to the ceiling when she cums, and Bruce presses him to feel her flutter on his tongue. He relents them, lets her move until he’s sticky with her. And when she lowers herself to the bed with a contented sigh, Lois looks at him with half-lidded eyes. Bruce wonders what she sees, whether he looks as flushed as he feels. She is heavy on his tongue, and he thinks maybe these trousers were a lost cause.

Lois presses her lips together for a moment and then says, “Strip.”

His hands move to his belt automatically, each layer moved with efficiency, and left in an unattractive heap upon the floor.

“I hope you remember to pick those up,” she reminds him, smiles and beckons him closer with waving hands.

It’s almost too much to touch her, to press this close. His cock bumps against her pelvic bone, and settles in the curve of her inner thigh. It leaves a sticky mess, and he shivers.

He’s never done this without Clark here, he thinks, and it shocks him now strange it feels to not have that secondary heat. Bruce thinks this will change things, but for good. With Clark and Lois, it can only be good.

Lois angles his head up to kiss him, and her hand trails. It presses into coarse hair and strokes. “You want me?”

Bruce snorts, and his kisses are harsh. “Stupid question,” he says with derision.

“Then hurry up and get inside me,” Lois grumbles.

“How do you want me?” he asks, because he’ll always chose what’s most comfortable for her.

He’s on his knees, resting on his heels, when Lois lowers herself onto him. It’s excruciating, too tight, too much, and Bruce buries his face into the mass of red curls. His arms are folded around her waist, tighten and hold her. Lois gasps, leans back into him. Her hands cover his, encourage their fingers to intertwine.

She takes all of him, and Bruce wonders what they look like together like this. He thinks, if its anything like Lois with Clark, it must be glorious. It’s something he wants to capture. Even more, it’s something he wants _Clark_ to see.

His phone is in his trouser pockets, and he nearly falls out of Lois trying to reach for it.

"What are you doing?” Lois says through a laugh. She squirms, tries to turn.

Bruce nips at her shoulder in retaliation. “Clark’s working so hard,” he muses, “I think he deserves a gift.”

She nearly makes him drop his phone, the way that she laughs and holds him tighter. He curses, bites a hickey that makes Lois gasp. The camera app opens, and Bruce flicks a tongue across his bottom lip. “How should we do this?”

Lois arches her neck to rub her temple affectionately to Bruce’s jaw. “It’s your idea. Your show. Where do you want me?” her lips are pulled upwards teasingly, and Bruce almost forgets about the camera just to kiss her.

“Well, Clark likes it when we put on a show,” he murmurs, “so let’s put on a show.”

 

-

 

The first message comes without ceremony. His phone buzzes across his desk, and nearly falls off the edge. Clark is ignoring it in favour of finish one last paragraph before his hands save the phone from a drop. He glances at the screen. _Bruce._

He unlocks with a slide of his thumb, silently debating how the next sentence should start - and chokes on air when the text loads. There is no mistaking the curve of Lois’ back, the swell of her arse, pert and angled upwards to the camera. There is no ignoring the splay of Bruce’s hand across her hips, or his cock pressed between her legs. No words are needed – a picture means a thousand words.

Clark swallows, stares and shudders his next breath. He shifts in his chair, has to spread his legs until the knees bump the side of his desk just to give himself some more room. He is _exposed_ , he realises, and presses the phone screen to the centre of his chest to hide his lovers’ modesty (however little that actually is). His ears burn red, and he feels as if there must be eyes upon him, but everyone is busy, working, and unaware. Thank Rao. Clark flicks his tongue across his bottom lip and presses them together.

Against his chest, his phone vibrates. Clark closes his eyes for a moment, and shakes his head. No, no way. He puts his phone aside, screen down, and tells himself _don’t think about it_. There is still another three paragraphs to write that have been drafted. He has to do it. He doesn’t let himself linger on wondering what else he is going to be tormented with, whether he’ll see where they are joined or the heaving of Lois’ – no, he cuts himself off. If he thinks about it, he’ll have to know, and this will never get down.

From over the top of his computer, he can see Perry in his office. He’s been on the phone for the past half an hour, and even if Clark couldn’t hear him, he would know that something is causing irritation. Perry is all wild hand motions and dramatic tirades when he’s angry. No, of all days, Clark cannot bail.

Cursing those he loves, Clark steels his nerves and forces himself to work. He fumbles over starting again, but once he has, it’s easy to keep going. He actually enjoys this story, and he finds the continuing denial of global warming by specific politicians and leaders as interesting as it is infuriating. “Maybe I can make some people think,” he told Lois, and she had smiled at him in that way she does when she is proud of him. He has all of Lois memorized, but he thinks that smile may be his favourite.

When the next message comes in, he has almost forgotten. Almost. His mind flashes to the press of skin amidst quotes about melting icecaps and rising sea levels. His fingers falter mid-sentence. He looks at his phone, as if expecting it to move once more, but it reminds still and quiet. It is incredibly how something so innocuous could be the deliverer of such torment.

Clark powers through. Another message, and this one makes his pen roll from its perch. He misspells four words in a row, and lost the end of the sentence. He finds an ending of questionable substance, and even worse quality, but when the full stop is placed, it signifies competition. Clark breathes in heavily through his nose.

He glances at his phone and it mocks him with silence. His foot taps. He makes a point of opening his email, of typing a brief message to Perry, and sending off a copy of his article for editing. Professionalism, he reminds himself. He counts to ten.

Clark hits his knees on the underside of his desk in his urgency to get up. The desk whines, the metal denting, and eyes turn to him startled. He flushes, smiles sheepishly and slides his chair into place so that no one will notice. When he leaves, he takes his phone with him.

The men’s room is thankfully empty when he enters, but Clark still makes sure to barricade himself inside a cubicle, as if the thin walls will protect him from eavesdroppers. He sits, shuffles and gives into temptation. His phone unlocks to the first image, and he thinks it’s so much better than his memory had allowed him to believe. It sends a jolt through him, settles a comfortable warmth in the pit of his stomach. He lingers for a moment, but there is an envelope in the corner of the screen that promises gold.

The second stops him breathing. There is Lois and Bruce pressed close together. Lois’ eyes are closed and her face is flushed, gnawing on her bottom lip. She always does that when she rides them. Bruce is panting in her ear, but his eyes are on the camera, watching, enticing. Clark’s cock grows and presses into the inseam of his trousers.

The third is much the same, but Lois has her hand on Bruce’s neck, and she’s making him bend so their lips can press together. It’s a messier photo, motion blurred, and Clark knows how distracting Lois’ kisses are. This one, he thinks, more so than the others, makes him sweat. The back of Clark’s neck is too hot, and the collar of his shirt feels too tight. He fiddles with the buttons, loosens his tie. He takes in their faces and wishes he was there.

He would stroke Lois’ hair from her face, and stroke the hair on Bruce’s chest. He’d suck on his nipples until he groans, and rub at Lois’ clit until she trembles against him.

Clark swallows to get some moisture in his mouth. It takes him four seconds to decide to call, and he squirms through the ringing.

It’s Lois that answers. “Hey Clark,” she is breathless, and Clark shudders.

“Are you both trying to kill me?” he demands.

“Not kill you, get you fired maybe,” Bruce’s voice teases. There’s a rustling noise, and somewhere, Lois gasps. Clark wishes he could see what was making that happen.

“He wouldn’t, he’s probably in the bathroom with his dick all hard for u-“she is cut off by a cadenced moan.

“I hate you both,” Clark swears vehemently, leans his head back to rest on the wall behind him and he has to angle his hips to relieve pressure. He won’t unzip his pants. He refuses.

Bruce says, “So does that mean you don’t want to listen to Lois cum? She’s close aren’t you baby?”

Lois’ breathing hitches, and Clark feels lightheaded. “I…”

He can hear Bruce’s low encouragement, can hear Lois unsteady cries. He knows that she is grinding down and demanding her release, just as he knew that Bruce is thrusting upwards, muscles in his thighs straining, and breaking her moans with the force of it. Clark squeezes his eyes shut like he can stop the image.

“Guys,” he starts, and Lois curses, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck – _ah_!”

The press of his pants is too much, and he knows he’s breathing too hard. A part of his mind whispers that people will know what he’s doing, and he feels the unshakable urge to check beyond the cubicle door. He would have heard, he knows, but he doesn’t know whether he can trust his senses right now, wrapped up as they were miles away from here.

“You’re the worst,” Clark says, and he knows his voice is rough.

“Have you finished your article?” Lois says.

“Yes.”

“Sent it to Perry for editing?”

“Yes.”

“Then get home,” Bruce orders, “Now.”

“He’ll wait until you get here,” Lois promises, and Clark knows that she will hold him to that promise.

Clark licks his lips. He shouldn’t fly home, he shouldn’t. Not for this. “Give me five minutes.”

There’s a throaty whine. “Three,” Bruce grits out, and the call ends to Lois’ satisfied laughter.

Clark stands up sharply, and glances down. Ah. That would be difficult to hide. “Well.”

He counts to ten, then thirty, and then gives up, deciding instead to speed walk his way into the office, grab what he needs and makes his escape. He changes into his costume in the stairwell up to the roof. The camera there has been broken for the last three months, and doesn’t appear to be a priority. It’s easy, from there, to fly.

He gets home in three minutes, twenty seconds, stopping along the way to prevent a mugging. The fight has helped him soften, and the cold air makes him feel like he can breathe again, but the house coming into view reminded him of what is awaiting him in his bed, and it’s as if his cells are vibrating with anticipation.

He lands on the balcony. The doors are left open for him, and inside, he can see them. Lois spread in Bruce’s lap, and Bruce straining to hold on. Clark can see how flushed he has, how he’s edging himself away from the edge even as Lois tries to drag him closer.

She’s whispering filth in his ear, and he’s barking back at her. “You’re playing dirty.”

“Oh, can’t the big bad Batman stand up to a little underhanded tactic?” Lois nips at his jaw.

Clark wants to lick that mark. He enters the room, and the wind makes his cape billow behind him.

“I had a dream like this once,” Bruce comments.

Lois sniggers, but her laughter makes her move, tighten around him. Bruce has to hold her still, hands strong on her hips, and take a few moments to catch himself.

“You’re like this, and you still make jokes?” Clark muses. His voice sounds off to his own ears, and he hopes he hadn’t sounded like that to the civilian he saved.

“It’s a gift,” Bruce retorts, but his lips curl when Clark is close enough to bow his head and kiss him. Bruce turns to Lois, impatient, “He’s here, now can I come?”

“I suppose,” Lois sighs, drops a kiss to the corner of Bruce’s mouth. “Clark, what do you think – do you want Bruce to come from fucking me?”

“I-I,” Clark starts, because he cannot begin to explain how much he loves watching Lois and Bruce fuck, but he’s cut off.

“Or do you want to suck him off?”

“Yes,” he breathes, decision made. He loves watching them fuck, but he loves sucking Bruce off more.

Lois grins, clearly pleased with him, and lifts herself from Bruce’s lap.  His cock slides from her, drops wet and sticky to slap against his stomach. Clark’s mouth feels dry. Towering above them on the bed, Lois looks ethereal. She rubs a hand through Bruce’s head and beckons Clark closer so that she can press a kiss to his forehead. When she lays, it’s with a good angle to watch him, and her hands rest contently on her stomach. She waits.

Clark starts forward automatically, mind drifting to the last time and the time before last. The weight on his tongue, the hair against his nose. Shuddering breathe, and heat settling into his bones.

He’s interrupted by Bruce raising his hand, stopping Clark short. “Off.”

“What?”

“Spunk is hard to get out of super suits,” Bruce informs.

Lois interjects, “but it would be worth it,” and Clark makes a promise of “next time” before he tugs out of his costume.

Now bare, Bruce spreads his legs, leans back on his hands and let’s Clark fall face first into his lap. Clark hasn’t sucked a lot of dick, but he has sucked a lot of Bruce’s. He knows how much Bruce likes it when Clark takes him to his throat, when he hums around him. He knows how much he likes it when cheeks are hollowed and lips pursed and spit slides down his chin. He knows Bruce likes it when he can hold Clark there, fingers threaded into messy curls, can make him choke on it.

Clark likes it when he can feel the involuntary rolls of Bruce’s hips, fucking deeper. He likes that he can taste Lois here, unmistakeable over Bruce, and the way that Bruce curses when Clark chases the taste. He likes being able to break Bruce like this. He rubs his hands along Bruce’s thighs, presses too close to the crease at his thigh, and feels the muscles twitch. Bruce’s hand guides him to lift up, and Clark sucks in breathe when he’s allowed to. Bruce’s eyes are dark with lust, and his expression angular with determination, and he presses Clark lower, lower, until his face is pressed into his taint and he lap at heavy balls.

Bruce grunts, mutters encouragements that have Clark trying to get closer, to do more, take more.

Looking up, Clark can see Lois plastered to Bruce’s back, her hands scratching into his chest and over his nipples. She’s biting her affection into the tightened tendons of Bruce’s neck, but she’s watching him.

She asks, “Does it feel good?” and Bruce answers her in a gasp. His hold his tighter now, would be painful on anyone else, but for Clark, it’s a reminder of where he is, of what he’s doing. He will lose himself in this, but he doesn’t want to forget who he’s with.

“Clark, does it feel good?”

“Yes,” he slurs, and flattens his tongue against the space between cock and ball, that makes the vein under his tongue jerk. Bruce’s fingers tighten, tug his head back. Clark is a sight, and he knows he is. He licks at the wetness on his bottom lip, and shakes under his restraints.

“I want to come on your face,” Bruce rasps, “Is that okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” the acceptance falls out of Clark like he can’t help it. When Bruce puts Clark back on his cock, he takes it with new rigour. Clark lets himself get fucked like this, moans at each thrust of hips. He’s hard, so hard – he touches himself with both hands, let’s himself fall completely under Bruce’s control.

 Clark cums in his hand three thrusts before Bruce does. He paints Clark’s face in white.

“Superman looks good covered in cum,” Bruce mutters, and smears his art with his finger. He presses it to Clark’s lips, and enjoys the way he suckles like he can’t get enough.

 

-

 

It takes some time to get Clark to lay on his back, breathing heavy, cock still hard against his stomach. He’s a sight, as much of a god here as he is with the S emblazoned upon his chest. Watching Clark cock-hungry and desperate made her wet, but this was making the coil in the pit of her stomach unbearable.

She peels herself from Bruce’s back, and she chases away the cold air that rushes towards her by moving over Clark. She rubs their noses together, and Clark smiles dopily.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hi,” she greets, and licks the cum from his face. When her tongue presses into his cheek, Clark whines and angles towards her, and Lois shares Bruce between them. It’s always better like this, she thinks, much better.

When she sits up, she drops herself against his stomach, against the cum cooling there, and can’t resist rubbing herself against those abs. It makes her hiss, her eyes flutter, and she braces herself against Clark’s chest. She could cum from just this, but her boys reach for her.

Clark presses against her clit, trying to pass through the post orgasm haze to concentrate. Bruce rubs against her folds, slips inside her, and she stretches around him. Lois gasps, digs her nails into Clark’s chest, and thrusts down.

Bruce is hot against her back, and she angles her back to kiss him. His fingers scissor and curl inside her, and he swallows her cries.

“Does it feel good?” Clark asks, his voice hoarse.

Lois loses her beat for a moment. “You know it does,” she hisses, and cannot find herself to be anything but turned on when Bruce chuckles against her ear.

“You want to cum?” Bruce questions.

“Yes.”

“Do you really?”

“Fucking – _Bruce_ ,” she cuts off with a yelp, when a third fingers is added. Too much. Not enough.

“Hm, I don’t know. I think we should make you wait – I don’t know, Clark, what do you think? Five minutes?” Bruce drawls.

Clark hums. “I think Lois can hold out.”

But she can’t, too sensitive, too hot, and she demands, “Three.”

She lasts less than one, because Clark did that thing with his hand where his fingers vibrate against her clit, and she can’t bear sitting on the edge any longer. She thinks she screams when she cums, but she can’t really tell over the ringing in her ears.

Lois rides it out until she can’t any longer and has to bat hands away. Her limbs are heavy when she moves, crawls to press herself against Clark’s side, and reaches out a hand for Bruce. He holds on, presses his lips to the back.

“Later,” he promises, and lowers himself to lie in the splay of Clark’s thighs. It doesn’t take much to angle Clark’s cock into his mouth. He likes to do that sometimes, make it longer and softer, to bring Clark gasping over the edge. She pushes her hands through Bruce’s hair to watch better, and then turns to press her lips against Clark’s.

She hasn’t be able to kiss him until now.

The kiss is lazy and wet, a slide of lips and a touch of quivering limbs. It lasts until Clark keens his release into it, and begins again when Bruce joins them. Hands gently guide each face to another. Lidded eyes watch with warmth in their depths. They kiss in a way that makes Lois’ heart flutter in her chest, as if she is a teenager once more, and that makes her feel as if this would be forever.

She has to wake early to catch her flight, and climbs over Clark to get ready. She glances at her boys, and they slumber on. It’s only when she’s ready that she wakes them up.

“It’s time,” she whispers. Anything too loud would disturb this.

Clark is the worst to wake up in the mornings, and is still dozing, snuggles closer to Bruce for warmth. He smiles sleepily, and encourages her to bend down so he can kiss her soundly. “Safe flight,” he murmurs, “Love you.”

When Bruce’s kisses her, it’s soft and makes her toes curl in her shoes. He looks wide awake when he watches her, even with his hair sticking out at odd angles. “Call if you need anything,” he says. “I love you.” It’s raw in its honesty, compared to Clark’s innate truthfulness.

“I love you. I love you.” Lois says the words like a chant, like a vow.

Bruce kisses her hand against before she goes. His kisses lingers with her for the entirety of her flight.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated!
> 
> Follow me on tumblr [@clarkent](http://gladers.co.vu)


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